My Slytherin Pride
by SpookyMulder
Summary: One last desperate letter tells the story of how humility can find even the most corrupt of souls when death is the only way out. Things always look different in the end, but it goes to show that it's never too late to redeem yourself, to show compassion


**Author Note: **This is a storyline I came up with while my cousin, SwanMcGee, was looking for a good premise for his forum contest entry. It was written from Dean's point of view I think, or maybe Seamus', and the one-shot he wrote took first place. It was lost in the Great Forum Crash of February 05. He didn't have a back-up copy. I thought again of stealing back my idea, after reading PhoenixSong's _Sincerely, Harry Potter_ on Slytherin Pride on 

**By: SpookyMulder**

To Whom it May Concern:

"_WARD THE DOOR!"_

That was the last thing I heard as a free man. Not that I'm much of a man at seventeen, but it's as close to a man as I'm ever going to get. I'll be dead before I see another sunrise. We all will.

I wish my father was here. In my imagination, he sends the Death Eaters from the castle, rushes through the portrait hole to save me, and frees all the other kids who are shut in here, too. The ones who are still alive, that is. It's a harsh reality for us now. My father isn't coming to save me. Neither is anybody else. We're alone, and every one of us knows it.

It no longer matters to me if they're pure blood wizards, mud bloods, half bloods, Weasleys or Grangers. I don't care what house they're from, who their parents are, or if I hated them in life. No one deserves to die this way. We're starving to death, you see. Two hundred and forty-seven of us barred ourselves in one of the dorms just over two weeks ago and we can't get out. Voldemort has taken the school, the Death Eaters are waiting us out, and now that wait is finally at its end. What a cruel bit of irony that is. Such a strange twist of fate that I, Draco Malfoy, should die in Gryffindor Tower.

A week ago they poisoned the water. I can't tell you how many students died, and they continue to die every day, unable to resist the need to drink. Dehydration is an unimaginable thing. I could never even begin to describe it. A quick death would be a most alluring escape, and I envy Harry Potter his. What Potter did was one of the most heroic things I've ever witnessed, and I harbor no ill will toward him anymore. Riding out through a sky so full of Dementors, so thick they nearly blocked out the setting sun, it was madness. No one could have survived it, and yet Harry did it anyway. He was sick from the thirst, so weak he had to be helped onto the sill, and determined to rescue the last thirty-two of us. We were all at the windows, watching with the highest hopes as he tried to go for help. After all, if _Harry Potter_ can't save us, than who amongst us _could?_ It was our only chance, really, and I can't find the words to describe the hopelessness and anguish I heard from the common room as we watched Harry meet his fate. _Everyone_ was crying. Boys, girls, Gryffindor, Slytherin, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, first year to seventh. So was I, I think. No, I'm quite certain that I was.

Granger was in the dorm next to this one, and I could hear her crying when the Dementors took Harry down. Weasley was already gone by then. He'd taken Potter's invisibility cloak and made a break for the statue of the one-eyed witch three days before Harry's broom attempt. He was to make it to Hogsmeade, call for help, and bring back food for the rest of us. He didn't get very far. She'd been stronger that time.

I don't think I've ever felt compassion in my life, but I felt it then. Maybe it was because I understood how she felt, maybe it's because we're all in this together, I don't know exactly. I can't explain what made me go in there and hug Hermione Granger, but it's a terrible thing to know the true meaning of grief. The lines we create in our lives hold no relevance in despair, and so we put our arms around each other, nothing more than two people in desperate need of human comfort. I don't think either one of us spoke a word. We sat that way a long time, she and I, and I held her hand while she died this morning.

I realized that I have been wrong in my judgments. I have been wrong about a lot of things. This Slytherin was proud to have been her friend.

The others took the water I gave them easily enough. They lined up for it, believing me when I said I'd found a way to get the poison out of it. Then again, I looked each solemn face in the eye as I handed them their final drink and I don't think they believed me at all. Not a single one of them did. They didn't care if it killed them, and I suspect they were hoping it would. Like I said, a quick death is a most generous savior at this point, when you're watching your classmates die, there's no food, there's no water, and there are no more heroes… That glass of water looks better and better.

My quill has grown heavy. I'm the only one left now, and Death is at the door. The glass is empty beside me, and I smile as I write these last few words. I have taken Granger's hand, just so she doesn't have to be alone. I don't want to be alone either.

I hereby renounce my Slytherin Pride.

Goodbye, Father. I hope this teaches you something.

_**Sincerely,**_

_**Draco Malfoy**_


End file.
